


You Don't Know Me

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: Joe's Son by Mona Ramsey [4]
Category: Highlander: The Series, The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Crossovers: Highlander, Drama, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Series: Joes Son, crossovers, h/c, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-24
Updated: 2000-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim comes to Seacouver, looking for Blair.  Duncan returns from Paris.  All heck breaks loose - not with a bang, but a whimper.<br/>This story is a sequel to Home and Away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Know Me

## You Don't Know Me

by Mona Ramsey

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/monaram/>

* * *

"You Don't Know Me"  
by MonaR.  
monaram@yahoo.com 

The calm before the storm lasted just about long enough to drive Richie completely insane. For five days after Joe came back from Paris, and with no word from Blair _or_ Methos - not to mention Jim or Duncan - he almost jumped out of his skin with anticipation every time the phone rang, or the door to the bar opened. 

The fifth day, after the twentieth time he did it, Joe finally took the cup of coffee that was sitting on the bar in front of him away and said, "That's it, kid, you're cut off for the rest of the night. You keep this up, and we're switching to decaf." 

"Sorry, Joe," Richie said, a little sheepishly. "It's just - something _has_ to happen, doesn't it? I mean, Blair's going to at least tell us that he's okay and not being sold to white-slavers somewhere in the Middle East, right?" 

"I hardly think that's likely," Joe said, dryly. "He's either gone off by himself or with Methos, he hasn't joined the French Foreign Legion." 

"From what I know of Methos, those two choices might not be that different," Richie said. 

"Yeah, well, the fact remains that neither one of them is a child, Rich," Joe said, shaking his head. "As much as I want to hear from one or both of them, we just have to wait and let them work it out as best they can." 

"Yeah," Richie sighed. He rested his chin on his hand and said, "You know, I had no idea that having kids would be so nerve-racking." 

Joe's quiet chuckle was drowned out by the sound of all hell breaking loose. He looked up at the newest patron who entered the bar and muttered off-hand to Richie, "Remind me later to warn you about being careful what you wish for, kid," as Jim Ellison strode forcefully to the bar. 

Before Joe had a chance to speak, an almost eerily calm Jim pointed at him and asked, without preface, "Where is he?" 

"Jim, I think you should sit down." 

"I know he's your son, and I know if it comes right down to it, you'll be taking his side in this thing. But you _know_ what he means to me, Joe, and I hope that means something to you." 

"I'm not interested in taking anyone's side, Jim," Joe replied. "The only way I _wouldn't_ tell you something would be if Blair specifically - and with good reason - asked me not to. To be honest, I don't know where he is. I wasn't even in Seacouver when he was here, and I got back after he left." 

Jim looked at him for a long time, jaw flexing, as if trying to figure out whether or not Joe was telling him the truth. Apparently satisfied, he turned to Richie, who'd stood up as soon as he stepped into the bar. 

Richie raised his hands, and pre-empted his own personal version of the third degree by saying, "Ditto here. I mean, I _was_ here, but I don't know where he is, either. I'd really _like_ to know, too. I'm worried sick." 

Joe nodded. "He's been jumping out of his skin for the past week," he confirmed to Jim. "Neither of us knows any more than you. Blair hasn't contacted you at all?" 

"Oh, he's _contacted_ me, all right," Jim said. The anger was still barely seething under the surface, and he laughed humourlessly as he produced a letter from his coat pocket and slammed it down on the bar. "After three years, it's nice to know that I at least rated a 'Dear Jim' letter." 

Joe winced, unable to cover. "I'm sor-" he started. 

"No!" Jim said. "No. I don't want your pity, Joe \- not from either of you. I just want to know what the _fuck_ has been going on here." With great self-control, he took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "All I want is someone to explain this to me." 

"Maybe it would help if we knew what happened before Blair left Cascade," Joe said, trying not to provoke any more of Jim's anger. He opened a bottle of scotch and poured three glasses, sliding one to Richie and one to Jim, and leaving one in front of himself. Jim gripped on to the glass, but didn't drink. He did, however, sit down, and so did Richie. 

"The last time we talked," Jim started, and then shook his head. "The last time we 'talked' was about two weeks ago. The week before he left was mostly variations of the same argument about _nothing_. We were pissing each other off over little things; I just assumed that Sandburg - that Blair was just anxious over going into the Police Academy. It's a big deal, a big step, especially for someone like him. When he left for here, he left me a note on the fridge." Jim laughed again without humour. "I suppose that was a sign of things to come." He took a swallow of the scotch. 

"What did he say? The first time, I mean," Richie asked. 

"That he needed some time to himself, that he was coming up here to see you, that he'd appreciate it if I just gave him some room." Jim sighed. "I gave him room, all right. Enough room to get the hell out of my life, for good." 

"You don't know that," Joe said. "None of us knows what's going on." 

"Oh, two of us _do_ ," Jim retorted. "I think Blair and _Methos_ know exactly what's happened." 

Richie and Joe shared a telling glance. Jim didn't miss it. 

"You didn't know they'd gone off together?" 

There was a long silence. "We - didn't know for sure," Richie said, finally. "We suspected." 

Jim nodded. "Yeah." He unfolded the letter on the bar and smoothed it out, carefully. It was already well-worn, however, and showed signs of a lot of handling. "This arrived the day before yesterday. It's taken me since then to arrange leave and call everyone that Blair knows to see if anyone knew where he is. I've read it a thousand times, and I still can't make head or tail out of it. Maybe you can help me." He scanned the lines. "He just says that it can't work between us, that it's nobody's fault, that he's going away with Methos, and that I shouldn't try to find them. 'I can't be who you want me to be,'" Jim quoted. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

"Maybe it means just exactly what it says." 

Richie, who'd felt the buzz of Immortal Presence even before the door opened again, didn't know whether to be relieved or discouraged to see Duncan in the doorway, bag in one hand. "Mac - " 

Jim interrupted before Richie could finish his thought. "Where the hell is he, MacLeod?" 

"Who?" Duncan asked, quietly. 

"Methos." 

"I don't know." 

"I don't believe you." 

Duncan rested his bag on the floor, and took off his coat. "That doesn't really matter." He nodded at Joe. "I could use a drink." 

Joe slid the open bottle of scotch over to him. "Help yourself." 

Eschewing a glass, Duncan tipped the bottle up to his mouth and took two swallows. 

Jim stepped forward, into Duncan's personal space. "You'd know where he would go. You, more than anyone, _know_ him." 

Duncan looked at him, with the ghost of a smile in his eyes. "What are you planning on doing, exactly? Finding Blair and dragging him back here, whether he wants to come or not?" He shook his head. "You wouldn't want him like that." 

Nobody expected Jim to grab on to Duncan and slam him into the bar. "What the _hell_ do you know about what I want?" 

Richie made a move to separate them, but Joe grabbed him by the arm and made him stay still. After a moment, Jim let go of Duncan, and stepped back, breathing hard. Duncan looked at him, then turned, grabbed one of the beer-coasters on the bar and a pen, flipped the coaster over and wrote something on it. When he handed it to Jim, he said, "This is the number Methos was at the last time he contacted me. That was three days ago. They could be anywhere by now, and probably are." 

Jim looked at him, looked at the coaster and strode out of the bar. 

"You think that was such a good idea?" Joe asked Duncan, after Jim was gone. 

"No," Duncan said, shaking his head. "Frankly, right at this moment, I could care less." 

"Right," Richie said, putting his hand on Duncan's shoulder. "Mac, what's going on?" 

"Rich, I haven't the slightest idea, and I don't really think knowing would help a damn thing. I'm exhausted, I need a shower and a meal that doesn't consist of airplane food, and about twenty-seven hours of sleep. After I've had all that, I'll be happy to answer whatever questions you have." He picked up his bag and offered Joe some money for the bottle but was waved away. 

"Just one question, Mac," Richie said, before he left. "I promise." 

"Yeah, Rich?" 

"Are you okay?" 

"Rich," Duncan said, "I'm fine. I'm great. Hell, I'm wonderful." Although his words were exaggerated, he did chuckle when he said them. "The strange thing is, seeing Jim like that made me realize that the only thing I'm feeling right now is _relief_. This has been a long time coming, and right now, I'm just glad that it's over." 

Richie nodded. "Okay, Mac. You know where to find us, if you need anything." 

"Yeah. Thanks, Rich, Joe." He headed out into the night. 

"Well," Joe said. "I guess now we know." 

"Yeah, we do." Richie looked at Joe. "You feel any better, now?" 

Joe shook his head. "Nope. You?" 

"Uh-unh. Joe?" 

"Yeah, kid." 

"Can I have another cup of coffee, now?" 

"You got it, kid," Joe chuckled. 

* * *

The banging on the door was insistent, but Duncan felt no buzz at all, so he didn't even bother with his sword. He tied the belt of his robe and opened the door that led to the back stairs. "This really better be good, Dawson," he said, as he turned the door handle. "It's two in the damn morning and - " The person standing in the doorway made him stop talking, for a moment. "Jim." 

Jim was very carefully upright, holding on to the door frame. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before he said, "Hi," and swayed forward. 

The alcohol fumes from that single word were almost enough to make Duncan's eyes water. He caught on to the weaving man and pulled him inside the loft. "I thought you'd be halfway to Paris by now," he said, shifting Jim's nearly dead-weight across the floor. 

"Too 'spensive, too stupid, too late," Jim said. "Decided not to care, like you. 's smarter." 

"Okay. So you got kidnapped by fairies and woke up inside a bottle of scotch?" 

"Fairies," Jim snorted. "Funny. No, no fairies. Stopped off for a drink, instead." 

"Only one? What did they serve it in, a bathtub?" Duncan pushed him down on the couch. "I've got a great idea - how about some nice black coffee?" 

"How 'bout another drink?" Jim asked, listing to one side on the couch. 

Duncan grabbed on to him and propped him up on either side with a couple of pillows. "Coffee it is," he said, and strode into the kitchen, throwing on a single light so he could see what he was doing. 

Jim winced at the light and put his head in his hands, down on his knees. "Too bright," he said. 

"So sorry," Duncan replied, merrily. He clattered the coffee and the pot, rinsing it in the sink far more times than was really necessary. 

"Too loud, too," Jim said. He listed a little more forward, and Duncan put down the pot and ran over to catch him before he fell and split his head open on the floor. 

"Look," Duncan said, as he pushed Jim back up to a sitting position with a hand on his chest. "Just _sit_ there, okay? Don't move, don't do anything." 

"I'm not moving, this _couch_ is moving." Jim suddenly leered drunkenly at Duncan, who was kneeling in front of him, his robe gaping open to reveal briefs and muscled thighs and abdomen. "You know something?" 

"What?" 

"I wanna tell you something," Jim said, and gestured at him to come closer. "C'mere." 

"I'm right in front of you," Duncan said, patiently. 

"You're pretty cute." 

Duncan started to laugh. "I'm going to remember you said that, and tell you the next time you're sober." 

Jim folded his hands in front of his chest, and tried for an indignant pose. "Are you implying that I am less than a hundred-percent-sober?" 

"I'm almost certain that your blood-alcohol level is nearing a hundred proof," Duncan said. "I'm going to go and get the coffee, now. _Stay_." 

"I wanna ask you something," Jim called out to Duncan's retreating back. 

"Go right ahead." 

"Why aren't you upset about this? You get dumped on your really attractive ass by Mesh- Mesho- " He tried several times to wrap his uncooperative mouth around the offending name, and then finally said, "By your boyfriend, and you act as though nothing's happened. Everything's just fine and dandy." Jim yawned heavily. "Why is that?" 

Duncan flipped the switch on the coffeemaker and looked over at him, deciding that talking to a drunk man who was unlikely to remember any of their conversation was probably the best offer he'd had in the last week. He shrugged. "I've been expecting it." 

"Well, why didn't you mention anything to _me_?" Jim yelled. 

"I wasn't expecting Methos and Blair to run off together," Duncan clarified. "I've just been expecting Methos to leave me." 

"Why?" Jim asked, bewildered. 

Duncan smiled, ironically. "Because he's been telling me since the first night that we were together that eventually he'd leave me. It's what he does, you see. He leaves. It's the only way he knows how to survive." 

Jim was looking at him, open-mouthed. "Fuck." 

"Yeah," Duncan agreed, and turned around to pull mugs out of the cupboard. "It's a hell of a thing to fall in love with a runner," he said, as he poured the strong coffee. When he turned around again, Jim had slumped over on the couch, unconscious. "Oh, damn," Duncan sighed. 

* * *

It only took ten minutes to get Jim naked and in the shower under a cold, then hot, spray. Duncan left him there, semi-upright and holding on to the soap holder for balance, and went into the kitchen to get more coffee. He brought it and a clean bathrobe into the bathroom, sat down on the toilet seat, and waited for Jim to finish in the shower, needing to be there just so he'd know that Jim wouldn't slip and break his neck. The shower and half a cup of coffee had only made a small dent in sobering him up. 

It seemed to be taking an extraordinarily long time, so Duncan slid open the shower door and found Jim propped up against the wall. He didn't even bother to pretend that he wasn't crying. 

Duncan stepped into the stall, robe and all, and put his arms around Jim, who gave him no resistance. 

"Why the hell didn't I know?" Jim asked, through his drunken sobs. "Why did they do it?" 

Duncan shook his head, wet strands of hair plastered to the side of his face. "It's what they do," he said, soothingly. 

"I love him," Jim said. 

"I know." 

"I never wanted him to be anything but my lover." 

Duncan nodded. 

"So why didn't I tell _him_ that?" 

The sobs quieted, and Duncan reached for the faucet and turned the shower off. He reached outside the stall and grabbed the robe he'd brought and handed it to Jim, then ended up helping him into it. His own robe was soaked, so he hung it up to drip into the tub, and dried himself off with a couple of towels. 

There were sweats on the bed for Jim; Duncan helped him to get them on, then grabbed a pair of dry sweatpants for himself. Jim managed to get into bed by himself, and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. By the time Duncan turned off the coffeepot and the light in the kitchen and came to bed, he was completely exhausted. He hit the sheets with a sigh, and closed his eyes. 

Jim spoke again, in the darkness. "You're not going to try anything, are you?" 

Duncan snorted. "Don't worry about it. Go to sleep." 

"'Cause, I have to tell you, you could have your way with me right now, and I would _not_ put up a fight." 

Duncan turned over on his side, and looked at Jim's profile. He looked very alone, only half-sober, and like someone trying really hard to keep it together. "It's a tempting offer," Duncan finally said. "But you've been drinking - a _lot_ \- and there are rules about that sort of thing." 

Jim turned his head and looked Duncan straight in the eyes. "You're a real Boy Scout, aren't you?" he asked, rolled over with his back to Duncan, and fell asleep almost instantly. 

"That's what they tell me," Duncan sighed, and closed his eyes. Somehow he knew that he wasn't going to have those twenty-seven hours of sleep any time soon. 

* * *

Late morning sunlight poured into the loft when Duncan opened his eyes. The bedside clock showed eleven; he was absolutely astounded that he'd actually slept that long. He still hurt from the after-effects of taking a Quickening and the other traumatic events of the past few days, but not nearly as bad as last night. 

The bed on the other side of him was empty, but the smell of fresh coffee alerted him to the fact that his guest hadn't yet left. Yawning, Duncan sat up on the bed, found his robe on the floor, and walked into the bathroom, remembering to close the door - although it seemed a little ironic considering the fact that he and Jim _had_ slept together last night - technically - and Jim had seen him nearly nude already. 

By the time he made it into the kitchen, Jim was dishing out breakfast. "You cook?" Duncan asked. 

"I can manage bacon and eggs," Jim shrugged, setting down plates on the table. "I figured I at least owed you breakfast - for the clothes, if nothing else." He was wearing a pair of Duncan's jeans and a shirt that fitted him nearly perfectly. 

"You don't owe me anything," Duncan said, with a laugh. "Believe me. They look good on you." 

"If I'd done to Simon what I did to you last night \- well, suffice it to say I would have woken up in a holding cell this morning, and _not_ in his bed." 

"I doubt it would have been that bad," Duncan said, spearing some extra bacon. 

"Coffee?" 

"Please." Duncan accepted the cup, and took a sip. "It's good," he pronounced. "So, how's the head?" 

"Still attached to the body, unfortunately." 

"You don't look much worse for wear." 

"You'd be amazed at the healing properties of tomato juice, raw eggs, and Worcestershire sauce." 

"Sounds pretty disgusting." 

Jim shrugged. "It is, but I couldn't find any aspirin." 

"I don't get hangovers," Duncan said. 

"Yeah, I figured. You know, except for the beheading part, Immortality doesn't sound like a bad proposition." 

"You have to factor in the infertility, too," Duncan said. "Although not having hangovers probably balances that out," he grinned. His smile faded as he took another swallow of coffee. "You figured out what you're going to do, yet?" 

Jim shook his head. "What can I do? I'm going back to Cascade, I'm going back to work - I'm going back to my life. I just have to figure out what that means, now. I don't think I realized how much of my life was wrapped up in Sandburg." 

"That probably goes both ways." 

"Yeah, well, maybe it would have been better for both of us if we'd done it the way you and Methos did." 

"Sex without love? It took a hell of a lot of energy for me not to fall completely in love with him, you know. I always held myself back from taking that last step, and it was like straining all of my muscles at the same time. It feels damn good just to relax them, but that doesn't mean that I don't hurt all over, anyway." 

"I'd rather have that kind of pain, I think," Jim said, quietly. 

"It all adds up to pretty much the same thing, in the end." 

They ate the rest of their meal in communal silence. Duncan began to clear away the dishes while Jim lingered over his last cup of coffee. 

"Speaking of propositions," Jim said, and set his empty mug down. "About what I said last night - " 

"Don't worry about it. You'd had too much to drink. I didn't take you seriously." 

"I know. I remember. I'm interested in re-stating my case, sober." 

Duncan smiled, slowly, and leaned back against the counter. "I'm listening." 

"I don't want to be in love again, at least not right now. I could use a friend, though." 

"You've got one." 

"I know. I also know I wouldn't mind having something more from you." Jim stood up, and came into the kitchen. "I don't think you'd be listening to me if you weren't interested in what I have to say." 

"Look, Jim," Duncan said, "although I am flattered as hell, I have a feeling that this would be a very a bad idea, even if we both weren't coming off broken relationships. I did this once already. I don't think I want - " 

"I'm not talking about what you had with Methos, Duncan. I can promise you one thing, if nothing else - I would never leave the way he did. You wouldn't have to wait around, thinking I might not be there - at least, not voluntarily." 

"Meaning?" 

"I'm a cop. You're an Immortal. People try to kill us on a semi-regular basis." 

Duncan laughed. "Yeah. Cuts down on opportunities for long-term relationships, doesn't it?" 

Jim's eyes darkened. "Apparently so. I think I'd prefer to get into something with both eyes _wide_ open, this time." 

"This _sounds_ good, Jim, but it also sounds _way_ too soon." 

"You think so? I'm not so sure." Jim ran his fingers through his short hair. "I know who you are, MacLeod, and I have to tell you, I'm about due for a good dose of familiarity after three years of not knowing what the hell I'm doing at any given moment." 

Duncan hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "Call me in six months," he said. "If you're still interested, that is. Make me the same proposition." 

"Make it three, and I'll do it," Jim countered. 

After a moment, and not entirely sure why he was agreeing, Duncan nodded his head. "Three it is, then." 

Jim smiled, with something in his eyes that seemed to be a lessening of the pain that had been there ever since Duncan first saw him - could it only be yesterday? "I'll be calling." 

"I'll be here." Duncan held his hand out, and Jim grasped it, and used it as a lever to pull Duncan close to him and kiss him on the mouth, hard. 

Before Duncan had a chance to react to the faintly angry kiss, Jim broke away. "Three months," he said, and walked to the door that led to the back stairs. "I'll send the clothes back." 

"Keep 'em," Duncan called out. "I've got plenty more." 

Jim pulled on his jacket. "I'll bring them back with me, the next time." 

"You're pretty confident about this, aren't you?" 

Jim nodded. "Comes with the territory. You'll have to get used to it." With that, he disappeared out the back door. 

"We'll see," Duncan said, and shut the door behind him. 

The End  
MonaR. 


End file.
